1. religion and spirituality
2. judaism

Sample NIV Application Commentary John 4:1-54
John 4:1-54
THE PHARISEES HEARD that Jesus was gaining and baptizing more disciples than John, 2although in
fact it was not Jesus who baptized, but his disciples. 3When the Lord learned of this, he left
Judea and went back once more to Galilee.
4
Now he had to go through Samaria. 5So he came to a town in Samaria called Sychar, near the
plot of ground Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired as he
was from the journey, sat down by the well. It was about the sixth hour.
7
When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, "Will you give me a
drink?" 8(His disciples had gone into the town to buy food.)
9
The Samaritan woman said to him, "You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan woman. How can you
ask me for a drink?" (For Jews do not associate with Samaritans.)
10
Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you
would have asked him and he would have given you living water."
11
"Sir," the woman said, "you have nothing to draw with and the well is deep. Where can you
get this living water? 12Are you greater than our father Jacob, who gave us the well and drank
from it himself, as did also his sons and his flocks and herds?"
13
Jesus answered, "Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, 14but whoever drinks
the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of
water welling up to eternal life."
15
The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water so that I won't get thirsty and have to keep
coming here to draw water."
16
He told her, "Go, call your husband and come back."
17
"I have no husband," she replied.
Jesus said to her, "You are right when you say you have no husband. 18The fact is, you have had
five husbands, and the man you now have is not your husband. What you have just said is quite
true."
19
"Sir," the woman said, "I can see that you are a prophet. 20Our fathers worshiped on this
mountain, but you Jews claim that the place where we must worship is in Jerusalem."
21
Jesus declared, "Believe me, woman, a time is coming when you will worship the Father
neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22You Samaritans worship what you do not know;
we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23Yet a time is coming and has now
come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind
of worshipers the Father seeks. 24God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in
truth."
25
The woman said, "I know that Messiah" (called Christ) "is coming. When he comes, he will
explain everything to us."
26
Then Jesus declared, "I who speak to you am he."
27
Just then his disciples returned and were surprised to find him talking with a woman. But no
one asked, "What do you want?" or "Why are you talking with her?"
28
Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the
people, 29"Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did. Could this be the
Christ?" 30They came out of the town and made their way toward him.
31
Meanwhile his disciples urged him, "Rabbi, eat something."
32
But he said to them, "I have food to eat that you know nothing about."
33
Then his disciples said to each other, "Could someone have brought him food?"
34
"My food," said Jesus, "is to do the will of him who sent me and to finish his work. 35Do you
not say, 'Four months more and then the harvest'? I tell you, open your eyes and look at the
fields! They are ripe for harvest. 36Even now the reaper draws his wages, even now he harvests
the crop for eternal life, so that the sower and the reaper may be glad together. 37Thus the
saying 'One sows and another reaps' is true. 38I sent you to reap what you have not worked for.
Others have done the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labor."
39
Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman's testimony,
"He told me everything I ever did." 40So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to
stay with them, and he stayed two days. 41And because of his words many more became
believers.
42
They said to the woman, "We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have
heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world."
43
After the two days he left for Galilee. 44(Now Jesus himself had pointed out that a prophet
has no honor in his own country.) 45When he arrived in Galilee, the Galileans welcomed him.
They had seen all that he had done in Jerusalem at the Passover Feast, for they also had been
there.
46
Once more he visited Cana in Galilee, where he had turned the water into wine. And there
was a certain royal official whose son lay sick at Capernaum. 47When this man heard that Jesus
had arrived in Galilee from Judea, he went to him and begged him to come and heal his son,
who was close to death.
48
"Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders," Jesus told him, "you will never
believe."
49
The royal official said, "Sir, come down before my child dies."
50
Jesus replied, "You may go. Your son will live."
The man took Jesus at his word and departed. 51While he was still on the way, his servants met
him with the news that his boy was living. 52When he inquired as to the time when his son got
better, they said to him, "The fever left him yesterday at the seventh hour."
53
Then the father realized that this was the exact time at which Jesus had said to him, "Your son
will live." So he and all his household believed.
54
This was the second miraculous sign that Jesus performed, having come from Judea to
Galilee.
Original Meaning
THE LENGTHY AND IMPORTANT story about Jesus' interaction with a Samaritan woman continues the
form begun in chapter 3, where Jesus speaks with particular people who bear so many features
of the world of first-century Palestine. The dialogue with Nicodemus makes perfect sense—a
Jerusalem rabbi and leader interviews a seemingly outrageous teacher from Galilee—but here
in chapter 4 we have a story that amuses as much as it surprises.
Jesus and the Samaritan Woman (4:1-26)
THIS NEW CHARACTER is a woman—a Samaritan woman, no less—and a person of questionable
moral character. As we will note below, in this culture it was highly irregular for a man with
Jesus' profile to speak with anyone possessing such features. He is male, single, religious, and
Jewish, and clearly defined social boundaries ought to keep him from speaking with a woman in
such a private setting.
But here is the irony in the story. As Nicodemus's character fell silent in chapter 3, leaving us to
wonder what would become of this religious Jewish leader, suddenly we see that this irreligious
woman takes the unexpected step: She acknowledges Jesus' lordship, remains "in the light,"
and exhibits some of the signs of discipleship we learned in chapter 1. She runs and tells others,
bringing them to Jesus, and as a result many come to believe (4:39). It is no accident that the
story of Nicodemus takes place "at night" and this episode occurs at about noon (4:6). Light and
darkness are such prominent Johannine motifs that their presence in the narrative signals
important theological meanings.
But there is another level of interest in the story linking it to what has gone before. I have
argued that we are reading a series of probings in which Jesus' messianic presence overwhelms
some feature or institution of Judaism. In chapter 2 Jesus revealed his glory as he refilled Jewish
purification pots, and then went to the temple indicating that it would be refilled or replaced
with his own life. In chapter 3 Jesus challenges Judaism's teaching office, asking how it is that a
rabbi like Nicodemus could not understand basic things about God. Now Jesus moves to the
periphery of Judaism, to Samaria, and here he not only meets a woman, but he demonstrates
that his gift surpasses any gift that can be found in a deeply historic, potentially superstitious
well. Jacob's well is no match for Jesus' well. One of the challenges set before the woman is for
her to unravel the mystery of Jesus' words as he replaces the very well she reveres. He has
water she has never seen, and she must discern how to get it.
John 4:1-3 provides the setting. It is not surprising that the Pharisees take an interest in Jesus
(4:1) since they have already investigated the work of the Baptist (1:19, 24). It would take little
searching to discover that many of Jesus' followers had come from the ranks of the Baptist
(1:35-37). Later, when Jesus arrives in Galilee, inquiries by Herod Antipas firmly identify Jesus
with the Baptist as well (Mark 6:14-16).
Since the Synoptics describe Jesus' public ministry beginning in Galilee (along with the call of
the disciples, Mark 1:14-20), some critical scholars are reluctant to accept John's account of an
earlier Judean ministry. That Jesus' work had already begun and that his fame was spreading
and his circle of disciples growing at this point is unrecorded elsewhere. But this early Judean
popularity is suggested in the Synoptics from another vantage. It is not until John is arrested in
Perea (across the Jordan) that Jesus moves to Galilee (Mark 1:14). Jesus likely had reason to
fear his own arrest (hence his move north) because of his association with the now-imprisoned
John. Jesus no doubt works at length with his new disciples, having them continue their
baptizing work (4:1-2); then in Galilee as the ranks of his followers grows, he calls a select
number to full-time ministry.
This crisis in Judea may also explain Jesus' decision to travel north through Samaria (4:4). This
route was not the usual way for a Jew to travel between Judea and Galilee. It was faster, but
not preferred by most religious Jews.
Travelers would generally go east to Jerich and then travel north, skirting the hills of Judea and
Samaria just west of the Jordan River. When Mount Gilboa came into view, they came to the
city of Scythopolis (Old Testament Beth Shan) and turned west into the Jezreel Valley, whose
open, well-watered plains guided them into the Galilee interior. The route through Samaria was
easier, but it forced the traveler to enter this region of mountains inhabited by people with
whom rivalry and strife had an ancient history.
The apostasy of the Old Testament northern kingdom of Israel (finally based in the city of
Samaria) was well known. When the Assyrians conquered and exiled the northern kingdom in
722 B.C., they repopulated the region with people from throughout their empire (2 Kings
17:23-24). Remnants of the defeated Israelite kingdom now mixed with Persians and other
conquered peoples. The paganism known to Jeroboam now was mixed with countless other
practices, making the religious impurity of the land infamous (2 Kings 17:25ff.).
In time, the monotheism of Judaism prevailed, but it suffered important modifications. The
Samaritans rejected the writings of the Prophets (including the histories [1-2 Samuel, 1-2 Kings,
1-2 Chronicles]) and wisdom literature (Proverbs, Psalms, etc.) because of these writings'
emphasis on Judea and David's line centered on Jerusalem. Their Scriptures were limited to the
Pentateuch (Genesis through Deuteronomy), and their worship was centered on a new temple
on Mount Gerizim, towering above ancient Shechem, while Jerusalem was rejected as a place
of pilgrimage. Following the Babylonian exile when Zerubbabel led the rebuilding of the temple,
Samaritan help was adamantly refused (Ezra 4:2-3), which fueled more conflict. When
Alexander the Great and later Greek generals controlled Palestine (beginning about 330 B.C.),
they made Samaria an important base, knowing that here they could find sympathetic, antiJewish allies. When the Jews had their opportunity (128 B.C.) they attacked Samaria, destroyed
Shechem, and burned the Samaritan temple on Mount Gerizim.
By Jesus' day, a smoldering tension existed between the regions of Judea and Samaria. Partly
based on race and religion, it echoed many centuries of terrible political fights Therefore when
we read that Jesus, in passing through the region, meets a "Samaritan woman," the story does
not mean that she is a resident of the city of Samaria, but that she is from the region of
Samaria. She is a woman bearing the history, language, religion, and attitudes of people on the
far margin of Judaism. A first-century reader would barely expect Jesus and the woman to
acknowledge each other's presence, much less speak.
The location of Sychar (4:5) is problematic since no ancient literature refers to it. Sychar may be
the modern Arab village of ‘Askar, although scholars are divided since ‘Askar is an early
medieval town Jacob did indeed purchase land in the vicinity, naming it "Shechem" (from the
Heb. word for "shoulder," the shoulder of a hill, Gen. 33:19), and he gave some of it to Joseph
(48:22). Even though we have no account of Jacob's digging a well, it is not unlikely and today
an ancient well is accessible adjacent to Shechem (Arab Balata). It is probably best to conclude
that Sychar refers then to Shechem and that the well nearby (visited by many pilgrims) is the
historic well One of the wonderful things about sites like this in the Middle East is that bedrock
wells from antiquity do not change their location over time.
In John 4:6 the Greek word for "well" actually refers to a "spring" (Gk. pege), that is, a freeflowing water source or fountain (such as Jerusalem's Gihon Spring). By contrast, a well,
properly speaking (Gk. phrear, 4:11-12), is dug by hand. Rather than an ironic comparison with
Jesus' "spring" (4:10), this is likely a commonplace description of a dug well that has tapped a
free-flow-ing spring (which the hundred-foot well does today). In the first century, the well
would have had a short perimeter wall around its mouth (preventing people, animals, and
debris from falling in), a stone lid (see Gen. 29:2), a stone trough nearby for animals to be
watered, and perhaps a tripod for attaching a rope/container for drawing water.
Jesus arrives at the well, sits on the wall at its edge to relieve his fatigue, and presents an
unavoidable obstacle to a woman who has come to get water. His fatigue is an interesting note.
Throughout this Gospel, John emphasizes the divinity of Jesus in the strongest terms. But here
he easily and comfortably shows an incidental human feature: Jesus is tired. John's Christology
does not emphasize one dimension of Jesus at the expense of the other.
It is the sixth hour, that is, noon Two notes are helpful. (1) In this culture water collection was a
responsibility of women In a world that isolated women socially, the task was not entirely
burdensome but became an opportunity for women to meet and talk. Therefore wells became
the one locale where women could be either avoided or met. When Abraham's servant
returned north to Haran looking for a wife for Isaac, he found the local well (Gen. 24) and met
Rebekah there. Likewise Moses fled to Midian and at a well met the daughters of Jethro (Ex.
2:15-16), one of whom became his wife (Zipporah). This motif is so prominent, some scholars
have suggested John 4 may be influenced by ancient betrothal scenes in which (symbolically)
Jesus calls a woman without proper marriage to a new, redeeming relationship with him (2)
Historically, water-drawing took place either in the early morning or at dusk in order to avoid
the Mediterranean heat. While mid-afternoon work like this was not unknown, the scene
reminds us of this woman's social isolation. She draws water when other women are absent.
Later, of course, we learn the reason for her isolation (4:18): She has doomed her reputation
and broken the morals of her community. This makes Jesus' overture and conversation all the
more remarkable. He is crossing many boundaries. In this world men rarely speak to women in
public, even if they are married to them. Single men never speak to or touch women at any
time.
Above all, a rabbi (as Jesus is known) would observe these ideals scrupulously. This explains the
woman's surprise in 4:9: She is not merely a Samar- itan, but a Samaritan woman This also
explains the disciples' astonishment in 4:27 when they return to him after purchasing some
food (cf. 4:8). Their minds are racing with thoughts they dare not express: "What is going on
here? Why this irregular conversation?" The surprising thing is not that Jesus would ask her for
help with a drink; rather, it is that he would ask her anything.
The conversation between Jesus and the woman is a delightful, dramatic play. As a classic
Johannine discourse, questions are asked that will bring Jesus' listener from earthly thoughts
(well water) to heavenly realities (living water). Raymond Brown has convincingly outlined how
the passage provides two scenes in which earthly and heavenly realities are addressed. In 4:715 Jesus explores the meaning of living water; in 4:16-26 Jesus discusses the sinful life of the
woman and talks about true worship. In each case, conversations begin with mundane, earthly
subjects (wells, husbands), and Jesus presses the woman to examine what these earthly things
really mean for her. Woven through these sections are two questions, two challenges launched
by Jesus in 4:10: Will this woman comprehend the gift of God and its giver? Will she ask for a
drink? We are left in suspense, wondering if the woman will have the courage to ask Jesus to be
her water source and will identify him accurately for who he is.
As with Nicodemus, earthly questioners cannot understand heavenly things. They stumble over
misunderstandings, which lead to humorous, ironic double meanings. As a resident of Shechem,
the woman knows the location of every water source. But here Jesus says something
unexpected: He is able to provide "living water" (4:10b). "Living water" refers to water that
flows as in a spring, river, or stream, that is, moving water. Other water stood still, and one
could find it in a well, cistern or pond. Living water was precious and valued and, according to
rabbinic law, was the only water that could be used in ritual washings to make pure unclean
worshipers Everyone knew that Shechem had no rivers or streams. Even Jacob had to dig a well
in order to water his flocks here (4:12). How could a Jewish outsider, someone who barely
knew the terrain, offer water that no one else had found? There is no living water in Shechem.
But the woman stumbles on the metaphor and misunderstands. She is curious about the
possibility of a nearby stream or spring (4:11b), but Jesus wants her to look beyond, to the
spiritual significance of what this water means. This is water that eliminates thirst (4:13), a
water that leads to eternal life (4:14). It is no surprise that in this arid country, something so
precious as running water would take on symbolic meaning. Living water is life nourished by
God. Jeremiah rebukes Israel saying, "My people have committed two sins: They have forsaken
me, the spring of living water, and have dug their own cisterns, broken cisterns that cannot
hold water" (Jer. 2:13). God is the source of spiritual renewal, and other avenues simply must
be rejected.
Isaiah uses this imagery when he exhorts all in Israel who are thirsty to come to the waters
supplied by God (Isa. 55:1). At the end of time, when God's blessings deluge the land, Ezekiel
and Zechariah foresee such living water literally flowing out of Jerusalem's temple, entering the
Dead Sea in the east and the Mediterranean Sea in the west (Ezek. 47:1-12; Zech. 14:8).
However, rabbinic interpreters in Jesus' day understood this to be a prophetic symbol of the
Holy Spirit that would renew and cleanse the earth in the last days (Ezek. 36:25-27).
Jesus is talking about a new life that is available through the Spirit of God (4:14). Water has
become a symbol of this new reality since the beginning of the book (1:31; 2:7; 3:5) and later
will be defined as the Holy Spirit (7:37-39). Christ himself is the source of precious living water,
which can transform even this woman in her isolation. It is the "gift" (dorea) of God—a word
that later Christians associated with the Holy Spirit (Acts 2:38; 8:20; 10:45; 11:17; Heb. 6:4).
But Jesus takes this promise a step further. It is not simply an experience that changes our
"state" (such as a "state of salvation"), but it is a dynamic experience that makes a life as living
as the water itself. The water (or Spirit) will transform a life into a well that "wells up"
(Gk. allomai, 4:14). In the LXX, this word is used of the Holy Spirit that "leaps" on great leaders
such as Samson, Saul, and David. Jesus' image is dramatic: The woman in search of a well
discovers that the Spirit could transform her life into a well that does not require reaching and
dipping, but which roils and gurgles with water until it spills over its rim.
The woman is clearly intrigued but incredulous. But in 4:15 she makes a request that fulfills one
of Jesus' earlier two challenges from 4:10, "Sir, give me this water." Yet her perception of what
she is asking is flawed. She is still seeking literal water (as Nicodemus questioned a literal
rebirth [3:4] and as the Galileans will ask for bread [6:34]). She is still thinking about earthly
things—about water for her jar, not living water for her soul.
The woman has requested water, but she does not understand the gift, nor does she know the
identity of the giver. The second round of questions (4:16-26) now must pursue this second
theme of Jesus' identity and fulfill Jesus' second challenge of4:10. No doubt Jesus' request that
she summon her husband was a shock (4:16). Her response that she has no husband (4:17)
may have been true were she divorced or a widow. But Jesus knows it is untrue. Unveiling his
divine capacity (cf. Nathanael, 1:49), he reminds her that she has had five husbands, and her
current lover is either a sixth husband or a man to whom she is not married.
This number should not be allegorized but taken at its most simple level.
Either way, she has sinned, and the reputation that has dogged her incessantly now has
surfaced again. But Jesus is not simply judging her. She rightly sees that this uncovers his
abilities as a messenger from God and recoils, looking for a way to deflect the moral probings of
this stranger. Despite what she says in 4:19-20, she continues to "remain in the light," for she
continues to speak with Jesus and not walk away.
The Samaritans did not believe that there were prophets such as Amos and Isaiah in the biblical
period. Since they embraced only the Pentateuch, they understood the expectation
of Deuteronomy 18:18, which said a great prophet would follow Moses ("I will raise up for
them a prophet like you from among their brothers; I will put my words in his mouth, and he
will tell them everything I command him"). But this was to be the messianic figure of the final
day. Therefore in referring to Jesus as a prophet (the prophet?), the woman unwittingly has
opened the subject of messianism for Jesus. This is a common Johannine technique, in which
characters operating on an earthly plane not only fail to understand spiritual things, but
occasionally use language that bears a meaning more profound than they realize (cf.
10:50; 18:37, 39; 19:19-22).
In 4:20 the woman launches what she hopes will be her most potent salvo. To free herself from
the shame of her past (and present) in the eyes of this prophet, to deflect any more of his
questions, she refers to the historic religious division between Jews and Samaritans. Both
groups understood that God had commanded a place be set aside for worship, where his name
might be known (Deut. 12:5), but they had serious disagreements about its location. King
David decided to select Jerusalem, and after he acquired land and brought the tabernacle
there, his son Solomon built God's temple. Even after its destruction, the site was continuously
rebuilt.
The Samaritans rejected this tradition (when they rejected the later Old Testament books). In
the Pentateuch the first place where Abraham built an altar was at Shechem beneath Mount
Gerizim. This same mountain was also the destination of the Israelites when they entered
Canaan under Joshua's command (Deut. 11:29; 27:12; Josh. 8:33) so that the law and its
blessings could be read aloud Thus, given their historical commitments, it made sense that this
mountain was deemed to be the place chosen by God. Even following the destruction of the
Samaritan temple in the second century B.C., priests continued to sacrifice and worship there.
Jesus is therefore being invited to enter this historical-religious quagmire and give comment.
The woman's reference to "our fathers" does not point to recent history, but to antiquity when
Abraham (Gen. 12:7) and Jacob (33:20) revered this area. This mountain, the woman avers,
has historic religious importance, validated not merely by her people but by the patriarchs. Yet
the "you" in John 4:20b is emphatic, referring not to Jesus, but to the Jewish nation he
represents "Your people worship in Jerusalem and our people worship here; therefore, we have
little in common" paraphrases nicely the woman's intention But once again Jesus deflects her
appeal to racial division (as he did in 4:9) and supplies a sharp commentary on worship (4:2124). (On Jesus' formal use of "woman" as a word of respectful address in 4:21, see comment
on 2:4.)
(1) Jesus comments on the inadequacy of Samaritan worship (4:22). Unlike anywhere else in
the New Testament, he aligns himself with the traditions of Judaism: "We [emphatic] worship
what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews." Jesus is a Jew. The Messiah was to be a Jew.
Therefore Judaism is the trajectory of religious history through which God has been at work.
This is an uncompromising remark about the deficiencies of Samaritan beliefs. "You [pl.,
emphatic] … worship what you do not know" is directed to her tradition and world.
(2) Jesus indicates that the debate between Gerizim and Jerusalem is only marginally important
anyway since both places will soon be obsolete (4:21). In 2:19-22 we already heard a hint of
this when Jesus mentioned destroying "this temple" and John immediately explained that Jesus
was referring to the temple of "his body." Thus Jesus' body (the locale of God's presence, 1:14)
and the temple share similar fates, or at least interpret one another. The NIV obscures an
important word here when Jesus says, "The hour [hora; NIV time] is coming…" We met the
theological use of this word initially in 2:4 and learned that it refers to "the hour" of Jesus'
glorification (in John, his death and resurrection). Hence a cataclysmic change will occur in
worship when Jesus comes to the cross, offering himself as sacrifice.
(3) Finally, Jesus defines carefully what is coming and what is even now dawning on earth
(4:23-24). Worship in "spirit and truth" (v. 23) is the key phrase that controls what Jesus
means and is no doubt tied to Jesus' affirmation that "God is spirit" (v. 24). This is not merely a
commonplace explanation about the incorporeality of God. Jesus is not speaking about
metaphysics. Rather, he is describing something of the dynamic and life-giving character of
God. As in 3:8, this God cannot be apprehended, but his effects cannot be denied. Just as "God
is love" or "God is light," so "God is spirit."
These describe the ways God reveals himself to and impacts men and women in our world
Therefore "worship in spirit" does not refer to "the human spirit. It is worship that is
dynamically animated by God's Holy Spirit. But it is more. One preposition governs "spirit and
truth" in 4:23-24 (which the NIV shows incorrectly). Such worship "in spirit and truth" means
that we do not have a catalogue of two features here, but one inseparable concept. This is
worship empowered by God but also informed by the revelation of God and provided to
humans by the One who is the truth, Jesus Christ (14:6). Later Jesus will refer to this Spirit as
"the Spirit of truth" (14:17; 15:26). This is worship not tied to holy places but impacted by a
holy Person, who through his cross will inaugurate the era in which the Holy Spirit will change
everything.
The woman's final statement to Jesus (4:26) again tries to deflect his clarification. The
Samaritans did believe in the coming of the Messiah, based on Deuteronomy 18:18, and
understood that this person would explain everything to them. But the woman implies that
both she and Jesus will have to wait. "When he comes" disguises the Greek emphatic pronoun,
meaning that to this woman, Jesus does not qualify to be this Messiah, but that such spiritual
explanations are on the horizon for them. But unwittingly, she has used the very words that
best describe Jesus. With simple dignity, Jesus accepts the titles for himself (4:26). This now
completes the second challenge of 4:10. The woman has rightly identified Jesus (cf. 4:29b).
The Greek phrase of 4:26 (lit., "I am—who speaks to you") holds a term that is peculiar to the
Fourth Gospel and will recur with some frequency: "I am" (Gk. ego eimi). This expression may
be a mere self-identification (so the NIV, NRSV, etc.) but the pronoun "he" in "I who speak to
you am he" does not exist in the Greek sentence. The phrase is emphatic and unusual. As we
will see later (8:58), it is not always just a term of self-identification that bears a predicate (e.g.,
"I am the bread of life,"6:48). It is also the divine name of God uttered on Mount Sinai to
Moses (see Ex. 3:14). When this term (Heb. Yahweh) was translated into Greek, it became ego
eimi ("I am"), and throughout John we will see Jesus' absolute use of this phrase without a
predicate to disclose more of his divine identity.
The Food of Jesus (4:27-42)
THE COMPLETION OF the second challenge from 4:10 closes this frame of the discourse. Jesus'
disciples, who had left to get food (4:8), now return and express normal amazement that he is
talking with a woman, much less a Samaritan (4:27). Of course they are likely thinking about
the prohibitions lived in tradition and written in law that forbade a man to talk casually with a
woman (see above). But they may also have been intrigued that Jesus would engage a
woman theologically. The rabbis taught that theological education, that is, instruction in the
law, was for men alone. To teach women or girls not only was a waste of time, but a profaning
of sacred things. Jesus disregards such custom and here is talking to a
singularly irreligiouswoman about matters of utmost spiritual profundity.
Much has been made of the woman leaving her jar behind (4:28) in order to report to her
neighbors. For some, this is an irresistible opportunity for allegory (her former life? the law?),
but it must be resisted. Perhaps she is leaving the jar for Jesus to drink. Perhaps she does not
want to carry it home when she intends soon to return. Most likely her zeal to share her
discovery made her leave behind anything that would hinder her. Morris prefers a mild
symbolism: "She abandoned the bringing of water for the bringing of men."
This is the heart of John's meaning. One sign of discipleship is the testimony given to others—
words that eagerly spill out because of the preciousness of discovery. "Come, see"(4:29) is a
Johannine phrase of invitation (1:39, 46). Potential converts do not need mere information
about Jesus—note that the woman is even tentative about Jesus' identity as the Christ (4:29);
they need only to come and have their own experience with him.
In the woman's absence, the disciples urge Jesus to eat. Suddenly we find ourselves in a minidiscourse bearing all the features already seen in chapter 4. Jesus' claim to possess food (4:32)
baffles them since their assignment was to acquire food. Could someone (the woman?) have
given him food (4:34)? But they are thinking of earthly things, and their misunderstanding
enables Jesus to press their thinking to another level. Obeying the Father is Jesus' more deeply
satisfying task. The Father has given the Son work to do (5:30; 6:38; 7:18; 8:50; 9:4; 10:3738; 12:49-50) and his mission is to see it to completion. In his final prayer Jesus will say, "I have
brought you glory on earth by completing the work you gave me to do" (17:4). When Jesus says
"It is finished" on the cross, it is not merely his life expiring, but a gratifying expression of the
climax of his life of obedience.
In 4:35 Jesus reminds his disciples of a farming proverb in order to point them to their present
obedience. Scholars have wondered about the origin of this saying (it is not attested anywhere)
and its meaning (grain harvests take more than four months to ripen). Further, what harvests
are "white" (NIV "ripe") when harvested? Endless speculation about Jewish and Samaritan
festival origins seems futile; instead, we are likely hearing a village proverb shared orally (of
which the Middle East seems to have no end of supply).
Jesus is thinking about the span of time between planting and harvest when the grain is
growing but not mature, when the fields are full but not ready for cutting. The farmer relaxes
and enjoys the promise of plenty. But Jesus abruptly changes the image. The fields
are now ready for gathering! He has planted the seed (at the well) and now the harvest (of
Samaritans) is coming in. As he thinks about white harvests, some wonder if he is reflecting on
the approaching Samaritans (4:40, dressed in white?), who will become a crop for eternal life
(4:36). Jesus is in the world, God has invaded the field with seed, and it is bearing fruit already.
Jesus reaches for another agricultural metaphor in 4:37-38 as he explains what he expects of
his disciples. In farming (as in so many other labors) significant labor precedes harvest.
Sometimes those who do the preparatory work are not the same as those who harvest. But
what does Jesus mean by "others [who] have done the hard work" This is possibly John the
Baptist or Jesus himself, who has prepared the way for the coming church. Either way it is an
important theological statement since it defines Christian mission in terms of what has gone on
before, what God has been doing in advance of our efforts. Christian labor is never a solitary
effort, divorced from the labor of God. Christians are called to go where God has already "done
the hard work" and in this place reap the harvest.
In 4:39 the Samaritans reenter the scene and the harvest is at hand. Their faith (they "believed
in him") is based on the woman's testimony, which underscores the value of human witness to
the work of God (17:20). Evangelism is a cooperative effort, in which the preparatory work of
God joins with our witness to what he has done and is doing in the world. Jesus and his
followers agree to remain two days (4:40), which confirms the Samaritans' conviction that
Jesus is indeed the long-awaited Messiah Their stay there brought even more successes since
many more came to faith. It is likely this groundwork that contributes to the later efforts of
Philip in Acts 8 when he comes to Samaria following Stephen's martyrdom. The Samaritans
eagerly receive Philip, confess their faith, are baptized, and receive the Holy Spirit.
The narrative's final statement (4:42) is an important summary of the fruit of the woman's
labor. The Samaritans evidence what every believer must have—a faith that is not secondary or
dependent on someone else. Rather, they have come and seen and experienced Christ for
themselves. This personal experiential feature is a constant concern for John. Potential converts
must not only have their beliefs in order, but they must also be able to testify to a personal
experience ("He told me everything I ever did!" 4:39b). But there is one more intriguing aspect
of the Samaritans' testimony. They refer to Jesus as "the Savior of the world." This is an unusual
phrase, which occurs in only one other place in the New Testament (1 John 4:14). But it
parallels 3:17 in thought: "God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but
to save the world through him."
The "world" points to the far horizon of paganism and disbelief beyond Jewish and Samaritan
cultural frontiers. God's work in Christ is not limited to Israel (or even Samaria). This is a first
glimpse of the universal mission of Jesus, to reach those outside the boundaries of Judaism. In a
similar way Jesus remarks in 10:16 that he has "other sheep that are not of this sheep pen. I
must bring them also" (italics added). The harvest of Jesus is barely what the disciples can
imagine.
Jesus Returns to Cana (4:43-54)
JESUS LEAVES SAMARIA after his two-day stay (4:40, 43) and continues north, crossing the Jezreel
Valley and entering the region of Galilee. This small story brings us full circle from where Jesus
began his public ministry, namely, in Cana. In fact, the story provides a closing "frame" to the
section of the Gospel that outlines Jesus and four institutions of Judaism (purification, temple,
rabbi, a well). As I mentioned in the Introduction, the original edition of the Fourth Gospel did
not have chapter divisions and so literary markers invite us to note the progress of the story.
Each Cana miracle is even numbered for our convenience (2:11; 4:54).
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Jesus works a miracle in Cana (his first sign, 2:11)
Jesus and the Jerusalem temple
Jesus and a Jerusalem rabbi
Jesus and a Samaritan woman
Jesus works a miracle in Cana (his second sign, 4:54)
This numbering clears up questions that readers often have for 4:54 and the sequencing of
signs. This is not the second sign Jesus did since Jesus had done other signs (2:23) . Even the
language of the text betrays its purpose: (lit.) "This he did [as] a second sign." This is now the
second sign Jesus is working in Galilee, matching the first one at the Cana wedding.
The parenthetical comment in 4:44 has given commentators endless problems, and Carson
notes no fewer than ten solutions The problem is simple: Jesus says prophets have no honor in
their own country. However if Galilee is his country, it is a peculiar statement because
in 4:45 the Galileans welcome him, and we have nothing in John like Luke's story of the
rejection at Nazareth (Luke 4). Some (Westcott, Hoskyns) make Judea "his country," thereby
explaining the ultimate rejection there in Jerusalem. But this interpretation fails when we
remember how often John (and the Synoptics) refer to Nazareth as Jesus' home (1:4546; 18:5, 7; 19:19; cf. 7:41 ["Galilee"]). Matthew, Mark, and Luke all refer to this saying
following Jesus' visit to Nazareth (Matt. 13:57; Mark 6:4; Luke 4:24).
Carson effectively suggests that we should think of "Israel" as his country. The comparison
in 4:44 is not between Judea and Galilee, but between Samaria (which he has just left) and the
Jewish regions of the country. In Samaria Jesus has just enjoyed an overwhelming success. At
best, his audiences in Jerusalem were cautious; in 2:18, 20 the Jews challenged him there. The
Galileans in the present story welcome him not because he might be the Messiah (cf. the
Samaritans, 4:29, 41) but because they have witnessed his activity in Jerusalem (4:45b), which
likely refers to his cleansing of the temple. Their interest in Jesus, therefore, refers to his role in
opposition to the temple authorities. Even Jesus' rebuke in 4:48 is in the plural, showing that he
is speaking of everyone in Galilee ("'Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders,' Jesus
told him, 'you will never believe'").
In other words, John is writing with genuine irony in 4:45 when he talks about the Galileans'
welcome. As the next section in Galilee makes clear, they do not understand him; in fact, they
readily misrepresent his aims (6:15), and some of his disciples even fall away (6:66) As a Jew,
Jesus is commenting on his home culture, Judaism, which cannot provide one of its own
prophets with honor.
When Jesus visits Cana, he is approached by a man from Capernaum (4:46) whose son is
desperately ill and about to die. He was an important man ("a royal official") since he likely
worked for Herod Antipas in Galilee. The man asks Jesus persistentl if he will come down to
Capernaum to heal his son (4:47, 49). Since Cana is in the hills of Galilee and Capernaum is by
the sea, "coming down" is a note of accuracy embedded in the story. The two villages were
about twenty miles apart, separated by hills. Jesus heals the boy at a distance instead of
traveling to Capernaum (4:50). Later, as the man returns home, his servants meet him with
news of the healing (4:52) that occurred precisely when Jesus uttered his words of healing
(4:53).
On two other occasions Jesus heals from a distance: the healing of the centurion's slave (Matt.
8:5-13; Luke 7:2-10) and the healing of the Phoenician woman's daughter (Matt. 15:21-
28; Mark 7:24-30). These stories invite comparisons with the Johannine story since there are
parallels (even verbal parallels), particularly with the story of the centurion's slave. For some
scholars, John's story (set in Cana) and the centurion story (set in Capernaum) describe the
same event. But this seems unlikely. In the Synoptics we read about a Gentile soldier who has a
slave that is paralyzed. Jewish elders plead with Jesus in Capernaum (because the Gentile had
built the Capernaum synagogue), but the soldier insists that Jesus not come to his home. In the
end, the soldier's faith is praised ("I tell you, I have not found such great faith even in Israel,"
Jesus remarks in Luke 7:9). By contrast, our story is set in Cana with a hapless father who begs
Jesus to enter his home far away. He pleads alone for his son who has a fever and is never
praised by Jesus. In the end, these stories are anchored in two important personalities—a
famous military officer and a Herodian bureaucrat—and have more differences than
similarities.
Even though the official and his family believe in Jesus (4:53), the critical sentence in the story
is 4:48: "'Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders,' Jesus told him, 'you will never
believe.' " The attitude of the Galileans is the issue here. As noted at 2:11, the word "sign"
describes a revelatory unveiling of God that may be worked through a miracle. When John links
"sign" with "wonder" (Gk. teras), he is describing a different phenomenon. The Galileans want
Jesus to prove himselfwith an act of power. The same attitude surfaces in Galilee in 6:30 after
Jesus feeds the five thousand. In this case, the Galileans miss the revelatory sign Jesus has given
and press him to do something spectacular so that they can believe. Jesus' point is sharp: They
simply want miracles, but they do not want to see what God is really doing among them ( 6:26).
The NIV softens the language of the exchange between Jesus and the official. "Come down [an
imperative], for my little child dies" (4:49, lit. trans.) is matched by Jesus' equally abrupt
response, "Go [also an imperative], for 'your son' lives." Despite the man's later belief, he still
views Jesus as a miracle worker who may be commanded to come and go. The royal official has
given an order; Jesus now does the same.
Bridging Contexts
JESUS AND THE Samaritan woman. It is not the task of the exegete to unfold the psychological or
social profile of this woman (or most of the characters in John). This has been done at length in
the church, making the woman in her isolation, sin, and openness the center of the story's
interest. Much imaginative preaching has succeeded to dramatize the story along these lines,
but it misrepresents John's intention. Evangelicals have been guilty of this, but the same is true
of other exegetes.
On some occasions writers have emphasized the nameless, faceless character of the woman
and tried to uncover a tendency in the Scripture to marginalize not just this woman but every
woman. But this too is far from John's mind. He is not writing about how women are
marginalized and how Jesus has come to rescue them. Nor is he inviting us to probe the inner
world of this woman. She remains in the background so that John's Christological focus can stay
solidly in the foreground. Nicodemus receives a name because he becomes an ongoing player in
the story, speaking up for Jesus in the Sanhedrin and assisting in his burial (7:50; 19:39). This
woman becomes a temporary player on the Johannine stage in order to model to us an
appropriate response to Christ. She clings to her tradition as a religious cover to dodge this
discerning rabbi.
Characters such as this woman are mirrors in which to view Jesus from another angle The best
that can be said is that Nicodemus is a closed religious character and the woman is an open
irreligious character—and each demonstrates different levels of receptivity to Jesus and his
message. Nicodemus launches questions; the woman is looking for Jesus' answers.
To be sure, this woman is a person of courage, a person who has lost all hope and who is
socially isolated, living on the periphery of society. We know from many Synoptic accounts that
Jesus is keenly interested in such people. Note again Mark 2:17: "It is not the healthy who need
a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners." In fact, his
commitment to such people was a regular source of criticism for him (Luke 15:1-2). But our
task is to locate and develop what is central to the passage, what is pressing on John's mind as
he explores this conversation in Samaria for us (1) Jesus and religion. The leading message of
the story is about Jesus and his relation to religion. On one level we can speak about Jesus and
his impact on historic first-century Judaism. As we witnessed in all of the institutions of Judaism
that Jesus confronts (ritual purity at Cana, the Jerusalem temple, Nicodemus), he overwhelms
and replaces abundantly those things that the institutions offered. Jesus fills water vessels with
wine, astonishing a party; he challenges the temple, suggesting that he himself will replace
what it offers; he instructs a Jewish teacher in the deeper things of God. Now he comes to a
traditional well associated with one of Israel's greatest heroes, Jacob, and he offers what Jacob
never could: living water (interpreted as the Holy Spirit) that turns people into life-giving wells
(4:14). Jesus even challenges the sanctity and significance of Mount Gerizim and Jerusalem,
holy places to Samar- itans and Jews. "Neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem" (4:21) are
shocking words to anyone who has any investment in history and tradition.
On another level we can also say that John views the advent of Jesus in history as upending the
way that men and women should embrace the religious traditions in which they may take
refuge. The Samaritan woman provides a classic case study of someone who, when challenged
to assess the reality of her spirituality, immediately tosses up the barrier and says, as it were,
"But look, I am a Samaritan and we have our own way of doing things" (cf. 4:20). Jesus will not
permit his presence to be invalidated by human claims to culture, history, or tradition. If
Jesus—the Rabbi, Messiah, Son of God—can question the religious significance of Jerusalem
(4:21), what else could stand in his way? The woman's argument for Mount Gerizim does not
stand a chance (especially in light of its dubious historical moorings). But likewise, John would
insist, those items that we have turned into sacred mountains do not stand a chance either.
This is a troubling and fruitful theme that John 4 invites us to explore.
(2) The Samaritan woman and religion. There is likewise much to learn from the profile of this
woman. The key here is not so much her background (except that she is marginalized from
Judaism as a Samaritan and isolated from the community of women) as it is her attitude to
Jesus. John invites us to step into her shoes, to marvel at Jesus' interest, and to examine the
themes he raises. We should take careful note that Jesus even speaks to her at all. No selfrespecting rabbi in the first century would have spoken to a woman in this setting. But Jesus
delights in breaking traditional cultural barriers that separate people. He takes a risk. He
reaches out. He speaks. And, John would have us reflect, if Jesus is willing to speak to her, who
won't he speak to in the first century or today?
No doubt as readers we anticipate the climax in 4:17, "I have no husband." Watching the
conversation unfold is like watching someone unwrap a box in which is hidden a lively spring.
When Jesus inquires about her marital status, the spring is loosed and we wonder what will
happen next. Here we have a potential disciple who has hidden a profound sin in her life.
Perhaps it is a way of life that must be addressed. But Jesus recognizes that there is no going
forward, no reaching the living water, until this hidden thing is exposed and cleansed. But in the
end I admire this woman. Throughout the conversation with Jesus she must choose whether to
remain in the light with Jesus or walk away. In some respects, she dramatizes what we learned
in 3:20, "Everyone who does evil hates the light and will not come to the light for fear that his
deeds will be exposed." The light has exposed her, but she chooses to remain, and it must have
been a decision of remarkable courage and will.
But as a potential disciple, what should be expected of this woman? Since chapter 1, we have
watched men and woman come forward, listen to Jesus, and respond. As this Gospel unfolds,
we will see more. But here in this story we have the development of a profile, a template
perhaps, of what it means to become a disciple. Note once again Jesus' challenge in 4:10.
Converts must know how to identify the gift and its giver and converts must ask for a drink.
I see two dimensions to conversion here, one cognitive and one experiential. (a) The woman
must be able to identify correctly who Jesus is. In theological terms, there is a doctrinal
expectation. Content matters. To have a spirituality (no matter how profound) that is not based
on the truth should not be trusted. "God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and
in truth" (4:24). (b) There is an experiential hope. To have correct theology, to be doctrinally
sound and orthodox, but to have never tasted the water or to have never felt the Holy Spirit is
to miss a vital component of discipleship. For John, the "head" and the "heart" must both be
engaged.
But there is also a necessary corollary. The motif of misunderstanding at work in the discourse
implies that men and women who do not believe, who have not experienced the Holy Spirit,
who do not know the living water— such people are incapable of understanding the deep
things of God. Jesus tries to elevate understanding but fails because his subjects constantly
view things from an earthly vantage. What does this mean for our understanding of revelation?
When we read the Scriptures, for instance, does the Spirit supply some facility to the Christian
that is inaccessible to others? Is belief a necessary prerequisite for understanding?
Now if we return as readers to the passage with this profile of confession and experience in
mind, we see some amazing new things because John wants us as readers to have a
relationship with Jesus just as it may have happened for the woman. Note as the story unfolds
how there is a remarkable display of titles for Jesus (exactly as we saw in 1:35-51). The woman
and the story mature in their perception of Jesus:
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Jesus (4:6)
Jew (4:9)
Sir (Lord) (4:11, 15, 19)
Prophet (4:19)
Messiah (4:25)
Christ (4:25, 29)
I am (4:26)
Rabbi (4:31)
Savior of the world (4:42)
Such a list is not accidental. As readers we cannot overlook how titles of respect evolve into
titles of belief. In other words, the story's language models for us the demand for intelligent
belief, for identifying Jesus properly and fully.
The woman offers one final model of discipleship, namely, her desire to bear witness to what
she now believes and has experienced. I find this decision on her part to be courageous and
heroic as well. She is living on the margin of her community. This is a society where life is lived
in public, where secrets are always brought into the public forum. And this woman is a sinner.
Nevertheless, she takes a tremendous risk, returning to her town and telling the townsfolk
about religion as one who has flaunted its precepts for years. The striking part is that they listen
to her and respond. In some fashion the story is telling us that when people who are irreligious
meet God, their words have a potency that surpasses those of the pious.
(3) The life and mission of the church. Even though this story is set in the first century, its
attention to harvests (4:34-38), the role of the disciples, and Jesus' comments on worship each
suggest that the life and mission of the church are a theme here. Writing in the mid-first
century, John understood fully the significance of Jesus' traveling through Samaria. When Philip
had evangelized Samaria (Acts 8:5), John was one of the apostles sent there with Peter to
facilitate the coming of the Spirit. Therefore this story was important to him, and we cannot
help but wonder whether, when John went to Samaria, he met some of these same people.
This means that the story before us did indeed have meaning for the later church inasmuch as
mission to Samaria was a part of the church's vision. This story spoke volumes to where the
church should go and what it could expect when it got there. No doubt sayings such
as 4:38 were treasured: "I sent you to reap what you have not worked for. Others have done
the hard work, and you have reaped the benefits of their labor." Here we have a theological
comment about the nature of evangelism and God's participation with us.
Moreover, Jesus' mission to Samaria presented a challenge to communities for w hom travel
beyond their cultural frontiers was difficult. John's account asks a probing question: If Jesus
could go to Samaria, where are there "new Samarias" for the church today? If the John 4/Acts
8 parallel is helpful, then when we find these places, we will likely discover that Jesus has been
there already.
John 4 also offers an unavoidable critique about worship and tradition. On the historical plane,
it is easy for us to understand how the historic sites of Gerizim and Jerusalem have changed
their importance in light of Jesus' death and resurrection. Here Jesus is announcing a new
immediacy with God that will not be mediated through place, but rather through the Spirit.
Juxtaposed to the Spirit is no doubt the tradition that the Samaritan woman and every firstcentury Jew was willing to defend. But today similar questions can be asked. What traditions of
place, form, or ritual do we defend that suddenly find themselves at odds with the work of the
Holy Spirit? Do humans (Christian and non-Christian alike) have a tendency to create religious
traditions as a part of the architecture of their lives? Does tradition have limited value? Are
Jesus' work and the work of the Spirit at odds with such traditions?
Jesus returns to Cana. The healing of the royal official's son at its most basic level is a story of
compassion. Sons were of unique value to families in first-century Jewish culture Fathers never
referred to the number of their "children." They would always describe how many sons and
daughters they had, with emphasis on the former. In fact, the father in our story uses a Greek
term of endearment to describe his "little boy" (4:49). The phrase tells us that this is not merely
one of the man's "sons." This is a child, a little boy whose illness has torn his father's heart.
Perhaps this is the man's firstborn son, in which case there is a great deal at stake. Firstborn
sons carried the heritage of the family: property, name, and responsibility for women. Jesus
understands these emotions and values, and he acts with compassion and speed.
Therefore I can look at this story and rightly see a message about Jesus' interest in meeting the
needs of the suffering. But John offers a few unique twists. We have become accustomed to
reading about Jesus' care for the poor in many Gospel stories. But here we see Jesus interacting
with a man of some means, a man of power, a man who is linked to politics, much like
Nicodemus was linked to religion. Even though this man at first insists and then orders Jesus to
do what he wants, Jesus complies. What are some avenues of exploration for us? No doubt we
should reflect on the healing work of Jesus, but also on his compassion when people
misunderstand his purposes and even when they may wish to exploit him.
One of the curious themes in the Fourth Gospel is the "absence of Jesus."
On more than one occasion, Jesus chooses not to be where he is expected.
Sometimes Jesus is sought by officials (9:12) or crowds (7:11) who cannot find him. Nathanael
is perplexed (1:48) because Jesus can see things when he is not there. Jesus suddenly appears
across the Sea of Galilee when the crowds are looking for him elsewhere (6:22ff.). Jesus must
explain that not only is his origin a mystery but his destination will be unexpected (7:28-29, 33-
36; 8:21). When he is expected in Bethany for the ailing Lazarus, he chooses to be absent
(11:21). And of course, when the women look for him at his tomb, he is absent as well (20:12).
What does all of this mean? Why is it unnecessary for Jesus to travel to Capernaum to heal this
young boy? At the very least this lends a dimension of mystery to Jesus' movements and
activity. Jesus is not confined to place. His capacity, his knowledge, and his interest go beyond
human imagination and ability. His power makes his movements and his actions indecipherable
to those who do not have faith.
Finally, John is supplying a theologically sophisticated comment here about faith based on
signs. This aspect of the story is likely one of the central reasons why the apostle included it in
his Gospel. God's desire to disclose himself in the natural world results in revelatory "signs."
When this display involves acts of power, miracles result. Such self-disclosure by God should
lead men and women to faith so that they see the dramatic penetration of God in the world
and praise and worship him. But here is the problem. Those who witness these signs and who
are captive to the darkness of this world will only see deeds of power, not divine deeds of
revelation. John therefore is asking us to reflect on the relation among signs and miracles and
faith.
Or more broadly, John is opening up the question of the relation of history to revelation and
whether God discloses himself historically—and if he does, how it can be beneficial. Can
humans witness anything from God, given the nature of the world? The Galileans were seeking
signs, but this Gospel gives a critique of faith based merely on signs and announces a blessing
on those who believe without having seen (signs) at all (20:29). Nevertheless, Jesus came to
offer such "signs," and he provided them generously (12:37; 20:30). The question for us is
related to this: What can we expect from God? Can we expect signs and wonders? What pitfalls
await those seeking such things?
Contemporary Significance
THE BRIDGING CONTEXTS section shows that there are many themes in John 4 that must be pressed
into service in today's contemporary church. This is not simply a story about a woman who
meets the Lord, discovers her sin, and then begins a walk of faith in light of her discovery. It is
more. Far more.
Jesus and the world. Where is Samaria today? I am not referring to the geographical location of
hills a few miles north of Jerusalem. I am thinking about Samaria as a metaphor that represents
a major political and cultural boundary that stands between the church and a needy people.
Jesus has crossed such a boundary and so should we. At the end of the story, he is described as
"Savior of the world"—a remarkable title coming from a society that was as ethnically and
culturally divided as ours. We must think about those social, economic, and political boundaries
that circumscribe the church's activity, and we must cross them.
Witherington perceptively identifies the tendency today among Christians to concentrate on
those audiences that will be most receptive to their message.
The suggestion is that one should target certain kinds of people to
recruit for one's church, because they can be more easily assimilated
into the preexisting mix of one's congregation for the very good reason
that they are so much like the congregation in race, ethnic origins,
socioeconomic status, education, and the like.
This has led to selective activity that avoids "Samaria," making Sunday morning one of the most
segregated times of our week. We talk about going to Samaria, we study the possibilities, but
we rarely get there. Commentator G. Campbell Morgan once asked what would have happened
if Jesus invited his followers to study the prospect of going to Samaria.
If those disciples had been appointed as a commission of inquiry as
to the possibilities of Christian enterprise in Samaria I know exactly the
resolution they would have passed. The resolution would have been:
Samaria undoubtedly needs our Master's message, but it is not ready
for it. There must be first ploughing, then sowing, and then waiting. It
is needy, but it is not ready.
John 4 challenges us to take a risk, to examine the margins of our world and cross them. I am
impressed that a trip to Samaria meant nothing short of "risk" for Jesus. It meant leaving the
usually traveled highway that was well known and comfortable. It meant traveling without the
usual companions. And when Jesus went into Samaria as an outsider, risk was joined to cost. As
any traveler knows, prices change when the retailer hears your accent.
But there is another intriguing aspect. A comparison of the woman with Nicodemus shows how
far she is from the "acceptable standards" of Jewish society. Yet unlike Nicodemus, she
responds in a way that no doubt delights Jesus. Unfettered by the theological questions that
followed Nicodemus like a shadow, this woman in her simplicity gets it right. She knows a
prophet when she meets one and concludes that he may well be the Messiah. And she is willing
to tell her friends. Those to whom the Gospel is truly "new" news, who live on the far periphery
of religion, sometimes see the meaning of God's Word with a simple and refreshing clarity.
I recently had a conversation with a friend who has worked at a car rental agency since his
release from prison. As a young believer, he sees the commands of Jesus simply and obeys
them. When I talk with graduate students about those same commands, we suddenly find
ourselves enmeshed in all sorts of theological debates.
There are also many insights here concerning evangelism. The woman's comment, "I have no
husband," reminds me of the phrase in Judges, "Israel had no king" (Judg.
17:6; 18:1; 19:1; 21:25). In fact, this woman has a list of husbands, just as the Israelites had
decided to be their own kings. Each one needs one King, one Husband. As Jesus' conversation
with the woman unfolds, he will not let himself get sidetracked by secondary issues but
continues to press home his interest in her personal life. Her ethnicity, religious history, and
gender may not become barriers. She needs living water.
In evangelism the same situation often arises. Muslims will make a last ditch appeal to
Muhammad and centuries of mosque/church rivalry. They may even ask about the state of
Israel, another minefield of troubles. "What do you think of gays in the church?" is always a
conversation stopper when you suspect that the question bears some relevance to the person's
identity and life. "But don't evangelicals really put down women?" is another statement
designed to give pause. These sentences and hundreds of others like them are attempts to
deflect the real issue at hand. Jesus will have none of it. In John 4:10 we learn his double
agenda: Do you know the Christ? And will you drink his living water?
Not every evangelical is comfortable with Jesus' evangelistic strategy here. Indeed, he
challenges the woman's presuppositions, exhibits care in her life and backg round, and gently
uncovers her sin. We like these approaches. But it is not until Jesus utters a word of prophecy
that suddenly the woman's eyes are opened in a new way. Jesus exhibits the power of the Spirit
at work for her and thereby models the power of the Spirit that may some day be within her.
We may quickly say that this prophetic word was simply a feature of Jesus' sonship. But I am
sure John would disagree. Jesus affirms that our abilities will imitate his. "I tell you the truth,
anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than
these, because I am going to the Father" (14:12). Jesus is explaining that the endowment of the
Spirit given to the disciples following his glorification will equip them in a way similar to his.
Even the letters of John indicate that prophecy was a gift that was active in John's churches (1
John 4:1). But what does this mean for evangelism? Is a convincing testimony simply about a
coherent presentation of belief or a persuasive presentation of the facts? It must be more.
Those outside the kingdom deserve to see signs; they deserve to see the Holy Spirit in us before
they will step closer to faith themselves.
I believe that John is also telling us something about the incapacity of this woman—or any
other person, for that matter—to grasp the things of God by themselves. This is the meaning of
the misunderstandings in the discourse. She does not understand what Jesus is talking
about. She cannot. Jesus is bringing a divine revelation to darkness. We live in darkness. Our
senses, our morals, our instincts, and our intellect are all fallen beyond our ability to repair
them. In fact, God's effort in the Incarnation is an attempt to penetrate this darkness in his Son,
Jesus Christ. Moreover, the Holy Spirit is his effort to penetrate our hearts so that we can
believe and understand. John repeats this theme in one of his later letters: "This is the one who
came by water and blood—Jesus Christ. He did not come by water only, but by water and
blood. And it is the Spirit who testifies, because the Spirit is the truth" (1 John 5:6, italics
added).
When Jesus asked his disciples who he was at Caesarea Philippi, all but Peter answered
incorrectly. Then Jesus remarks, "Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed
to you by man, but by my Father in heaven" (Matt. 16:17). Spiritual discernment is entirely a
work of God, initiated by God and directed by him. Thus Jesus says, "Others have done the hard
work" (John 4:38), meaning that harvesters (evangelists) can be assured God has gone before
them.
Calvin stressed this point with powerful clarity (see his Institutes, 2.2.18-21). He compared
human reason to a man walking through a field in the dark of night. We are like travelers "who
in a momentary lightning flash see far and wide, but the sight vanishes so swiftly that [they are]
plunged again into the darkness of the night before [they] can even take a step. God illumines
us sufficiently for us to know that there are villages and mountains on the horizon, but we
cannot make a map or find our way successfully. Spiritual transformation is thus an act of grace
that enables us to understand the things we yearn to know.
Jesus, tradition, and "place." Both Jews and Samaritans had their sacred mountains. Mount
Gerizim and Mount Zion (Jerusalem) both held a sacred history that anchored the religious
identities of their people. They provided a means for each group to consolidate itself, to
identify itself over against others, to gain religious prestige, and to enjoy assurance that
"on this mountain" God is rightly worshiped and heard. In the story these mountains not only
come up for criticism by Jesus (4:21), but they become a way for the woman to deflect Jesus'
word to her. She appeals to her tradition and hopes that her position will keep Jesus at bay.
Such mountains are enclaves of refuge where religion can be embraced, but likewise where
God might be avoided. Religious mountains can have as much to do with the Truth as a well in
Shechem has to do with the living Water offered by God. One of the deepest memories I have
comes from my upbringing in a Christian tradition that is as old as the sixteenth century. From
childhood I grew up in the Swedish Lutheran community that had its roots in Chicago. I say
"Swedish" because aseveryone seemed to know, the German Lutherans simply did not have a
corner on the truth. Through Sunday School, worship services (where I was an acolyte), and
confirmation, I learned to be proud of this tradition. I memorized the liturgies and Luther's
Shorter Catechism. My Catholic friends wore fashionable "St. Christopher" medallions and I
dutifully wore a chain inscribed on one side with Lutheran symbols (heart and cross) and on the
other the words, "I am a Lutheran." It did not occur to me that it could have said, "I am a
Christian." Lutheran was a subset of Christian—a superior subset.
This identity worked fine until at my university I met a graduate student in chemistry who led a
Bible study sponsored by Calvary Chapel (Costa Mesa, California). It was 1972, the Jesus
Movement was just underway, and the beach ministries of Calvary Chapel were being born.
Anyone can guess what I said when pressed about my faith: "I am a Lutheran." Luther was my
hero. I even possessed my grandfather's catechism texts from Europe to prove it in case my
medallion was insufficient. But then he asked irritating questions about Jesus and the Bible
("What about Luther and the Catechism?") and probed whether it was possible to be religious
without being Christian.
Jesus is not interested in Samaritan identities any more than he is interested in Lutheran
credentials. The questions remain the same: Have you discovered living water? And do you
know who supplies it?
Tradition is not the evil some evangelicals would think, however. Tradition can give needed
perspective and depth, which today I seek and value. However, religious tradition can become a
badge that is more important than our faith itself. Do evangelicals possess such traditions, such
places of identity that have little to do with God? I can think of coalitions, institutions, churches,
colleges— even special interests—that become so important to evangelicals that these items
define what it means to be spiritual. We become impenetrable to the work of God but
nevertheless remain thoroughly religious.
Tradition receives its most poignant critique from Jesus and its most lively debates today when
the subject of worship is raised. "Neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem" has its historical
moorings, but imagine what it meant for subsequent Christians wrestling with competing
worship traditions. When early Christians from Antioch met with Christians from Rome, were
there struggles? What would 4:24 have meant to them? "God is spirit, and those who worship
him must worship in spirit and truth."
In countless churches today congregations struggle with the nature of worship and the
perceived forms that are traditional and "holy." I have witnessed this in two congregations.
Younger people want something "contemporary" while older folks (who don't realize that their
liturgies began in the 1940s or 1950s) defend traditional forms. "Spirit and truth" ought to be
an exhortation aimed at both parties. Neither synthesizers nor eighteenth-century hymns
guarantee genuine worship that engages the Spirit of God.
Finally, the story of the Samaritan woman places a question mark over another reflex so
common among us. When Jesus challenges the sanctity of Gerizim, I can recognize this as a
correction to erroneous Samaritan thinking. But when he questions the ongoing validity of
Jerusalem as a locale of worship and reverence (4:21), something different has happened.
"Neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem" addresses something profound about how our
architects build religion. Because our faith is historically anchored (and not gnostic), "place"
becomes important as does "time." Questions of when and where are vital to theological
discourse. The problem comes when these places become ends in themselves, when they are
protected and revered in unholy ways, when they no longer point to the God who was there,
but instead point to the place where he acted.
Of course, this propensity has been with us for a long time. I am not thinking here about
religiously historic places such as Dallas, Colorado Springs, or Wheaton (or any host of names); I
am thinking quite literally about Jerusalem in the Middle East. It does not take long for a visitor
in Israel to get a sense of holy places, and the defense of these places has led to terrible
examples of violence and bloodshed. The Crusades are one severe example. But even recently
outside Bethlehem, Rachel's tomb is a place where Jews have decided they must pray, and the
violence there became so acute that Israeli authorities have now built a twelve-foot wall
around it to cordon off the worshipers. Passersby cannot even see the tomb from the road
anymore.
Evangelical Christians today have had an unholy relation to Jerusalem and the land of Israel.
They have adopted a "Holy Land Theology," in which the defense of "place" has become a
religious duty. So-called embassies, federations, and foundations have organized evangelical
money and clout in order to defend political interests in the region. What is most distressing is
that as evangelicals have defended this "place," they have forgotten that they have Arab
brothers and sisters in Christ (135,000 of them) who often suffer because of these politics.
Christians may well speak to issues of peace and justice in the Middle East, but when mountains
are defended in the name of God and people are sacrificed, something is amiss. "Neither on
this mountain nor in Jerusalem" is Jesus' critique of "place." God is spirit (4:24), which at the
very least means he is not tied to "place," but transcends all such things.
Jesus, miracles, and faith. I have a friend (whom I will call Anthony) who claims to have a secret
library hidden under his bed. He is a mainline minister whose reputation and prestige are likely
the envy of many of his colleagues. Anthony pastors a "tall steeple" church and has even had
experience as a college and seminary professor. When someone visits his office, they can see
the appropriately displayed volumes of Luther, Calvin, and Barth mixed with the best in
contemporary theology and exegesis. But then there is this hidden library, which, he swears,
would be his undoing if anyone found out.
This library is about miraculous healing and exorcism. Some of these books bear titles that
amaze and entertain; many are from publishers no one has ever seen before. They have
breathtaking cover art. Not only does Anthony read these things but he has taken a step
further, attending meetings where the "full gospel" can be heard and experienced. His sermons
exhibit genuine sophistication, eloquence, and rigorous theological orthodoxy. He is a homiletic
marvel. But his secret library seems never to penetrate these sermons.
I have often wondered about the value of these paperback theologies to Anthony. One time he
gave me a glimpse into their unexpected secrets. Their miraculous stories provided certainty
amidst his many questions— assurance that God was real and powerful when orthodox
rationality and logic did not satisfy his heart. Once he said that if these things were true, just
imagine how it would revolutionize the church. "If?" He had tome upon tome claiming that they
were absolutely true. He had even tasted some of their powerful promises himself.
Anthony had concluded that the miraculous sign was the ultimate validation of God's reality. He
assumed that if he had sufficient exposure to these things—if the church had sufficient
exposure—the demons of doubt and sin and disbelief would vanish. But as most Pentecostal
ministers (for whom this sort of thing is their stock and trade) admit, it isn't so easy. Miraculous
signs do not automatically lead to faith, nor do they vanquish the darkness that haunts us.
John 4:43-54 opens a question that it does not entirely answer, namely, what are the
advantages and disadvantages of a faith based on miraculous signs? Jesus' surprising rebuke
in 4:48, "Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders … you will never believe,"
suggests that the evidence sought by the Galileans did not meet with Jesus' favor. While in
Jerusalem, Jesus had the same feeling about the Jews who believed because he could work a
sign (2:23-25). Later, when he was in Galilee, the crowd pursued him not because of his
sonship, but because of his miracle: "not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate
the loaves and had your fill" (6:26). The crowds saw a miraculous supply of bread, but they did
not necessarily see who gave the bread (the Bread of Life!) or what it really meant.
For John, a sign is a divine revelation that leads to an enlightened faith in God. But most who
live in this world can only experience the surface apprehension of power. For each of us
burdened by human frailty, God must help. This is where my friend Anthony's theological
fantasy is fundamentally flawed. It suggests that if the church or the world sees more miracles,
only then will it embrace true faith.
During my first semester in seminary a professor told me a remarkable story from his early
years as a pastor. A young woman had become critically ill and her prognosis was grim; she
would likely die within the year. Her family had a nominal "Easter and Christmas Eve"
commitment to the church, so the discussions in the hospital between this young pastor and
this family always plowed new ground. The woman challenged him: If Jesus healed in the Bible,
he should be able to heal me today. If not, what use was he? So she prayed. The pastor prayed.
The whole family prayed—and pleaded and begged and bargained. If God would only show
mercy, the family urged, they would completely recommit themselves and come to church
every Sunday. This earnest young pastor prayed with all his heart. He refused to join the ranks
of those who said, "If it is thy will." It was God's will that she be healed, he concluded.
Then to his amazement, God healed her—completely. And with the physicians shaking their
heads, she was sent home from the hospital. Next Sunday, the entire family was there in the
front pew, dressed and sparkling. The young woman gave her testimony, praising God for his
goodness. The following Sunday, the family was there again. In four weeks, it was only the
woman and her husband. And after that, attendance was sporadic until they dropped into their
previous pattern. Before long, the woman rationalized the entire incident. She had experienced
the most dramatic sign God could give her: healing, bathed in prayer and surrounded by the
church. But after only two months, its power dimmed to nothing.
This is not to say that miraculous signs have no place in the ministry of the church. They do.
But John 4:43-54 suggests to us that they have a limited scope and usefulness. E. Schweizer
once wrote, "The false component here does not consist in that he [the royal official] is not at
all interested in Jesus himself, only in something to be obtained through him. This is where the
story finds its deepest meaning. Miracles were a natural part of Jesus' ministry and led people
to faith (10:38). But Jesus is more than this, and he expects more. He looks for men and
women not only to believe in his ability to work a miracle, but especially to believe in him.
Merely witnessing or experiencing a miracle does not mean that one has experienced a gift
from God; rather, it is faith itself that permits someone to participate in the miracle he grants; it
is faith that turns these miracles into "divine signs."
The royal official sought a miracle. Jesus placed himself between the request and the healing,
so that the man had to act in faith and walk home without the thing he wanted. He had to
decide if he would trust Jesus, not simply bring him and his reputation to Capernaum. The
young woman had sought a miracle but did not seek Jesus who stood behind it. And once she
had it, she could dispense with God. Anthony's library is simply a fantasy because it promotes
the possibility that a miracle or power encounter will solidify faith and spark renewal. It will not.
The root problem is our fallen capacity to receive and accept things from God. We will accept
gifts that benefit us directly, that heal us or profit us; but a divine revelation, a divine sign,
discloses who we are and who God really is. Divine signs, like light, are painful since they
disclose everything hidden in the dark (3:19). I often recall the astounding story of Jesus
in Luke 16:19-31, the rich man and Lazarus. When the tormented rich man asks that his
brothers be warned about the doom awaiting them, the conversation between hell and heaven
ends with a comment by Abraham: Even if a person on earth is given every sign, even if
someone were to come back from the dead, they would not believe. The human capacity to
seek after God and to identify him and worship him is entirely broken. It was as true in Galilee
as it is today.
NIV Application Commentary, The - NIV Application Commentary, The – John: From biblical
text...to contemporary life.